On a vacant corner lot in Watts, fenced in by a metal screen that gives a false sense of security, Antonio tries to go to sleep each night in what he calls his “cave” – basically, an old burgundy-painted van that no longer runs, with a beat-up piece of plywood draped over the two side doors that face a brick wall. It provides a little privacy, plus some shade.

It’s not Antonio’s home. But he does not call himself homeless. For the time being, his address is simply an expired license plate. It’s better than many around there have it.

He’s temporarily inconvenienced, having to use a shower at a nearby friend’s house to dress each morning. He has a cell phone, a bicycle (his second, after another one was stolen) and two German Shepherds that try to protect him.

One of them, Princess, roams the rutted concrete landscape with a chunk of rock in her mouth, as if to prove to the collection of stragglers who camp out at the nearby bus stop getting high or drinking out of a paper bag that she means business.

Antonio’s situation can’t be that much different than his neighbors in this badland northeast of the 105 and 110 freeways. Police don’t often come when they dial 911. A $2 Metro Rail ticket to downtown can be expensive. But you won’t find someone without a real roof over his head keep a more positive outlook. He smiles always, simply glad to be a part of something bigger.

I’m blessed to know Antonio because of his volunteer work. Each month, a group of us drive over to a church in Watts to deliver lunches and clothing. He showed up one day – not so much to see how many shirts and sandwiches he could carry away, but to help set up, clean and act as an interpreter to the Spanish-speaking families.

It took him a few months to finally admit that he lived in a car, sleeping in the reclined passenger seat. A friend eventually got him the van. Another gentleman pays him to stay on the property and protect his machinery. Antonio is a de facto caretaker of the place, but it seems no one’s really there to take care of him.

Antonio also admits to a soft spot for soccer. His friends from the nearby Ted Watkins Park play it from 7a.m. until past dark every day. Since he’s originally from Guadalajara, Mexico, he knows about the Chivas club.

Since Chivas USA was playing the Galaxy in the first round of the MLS playoffs, it was about time he’d get a chance to see this Americanized version of his hometown team in action.

Chivas officials were generous with making tickets available for me to take Antonio and his friend, Sotero, to last Sunday’s game at Home Depot Center. Once inside, Antonio took off the long-sleeved blue-striped shirt and put on the red-striped free T-shirt given to fans as they entered. He took the aisle seat of Section 115, and as the game unfolded, he focused on the dance taking place on the pitch.

He respectfully refused an offer for a beer, agreeing only to a bottled water and a bag of chips. He had to get back to a job later that day – two hours as a security guard for a small discount corner market.

When I returned Antonio and Sotero to Watts as darkness started to set in, it was difficult to pull the car away. I felt as if I was abandoning them. But that, they said, is where they live. We’ll be fine, they said.

“You know, I appreciate this,” Antonio said softly, without having to say anything. “It’s much nicer to spend an afternoon here instead of on my corner.”

If a soccer match can provide a temporary diversion, it was well worth it.

On the ride home, Antonio gazed up in the sky out the front window of the card.

“You see the full moon?” he said. “Every time I look at it, I see a face in the moon. Do you see it?”

I told him that I did as well.

Later Sunday night, trying to drift off to sleep but still thinking about what a nice day we’d experienced, I envisioned that full moon more like a giant soccer ball. But if that really was a face reflecting toward us, I could only hope it was at least watching over Antonio.

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